Childhood Lost
by Zoey Overbeck
Summary: Dreams of personally dominating terras like her ancestors before her were often accompanied visions of great splendor and success. And so, fueled by endless strings of these fantasies, the young girl pushed herself beyond her limits and performed well beyond expectations. Unknowingly, in her thirst for knowledge, her childhood was left to die.


**Inspirational Music: **"Already Over" by Red

This story does not follow Asaph Fipke's description of Master Cyclonis, which states "Cyclonis is descendant from a long line of evil emperors and became ruler at an early age because of a tragic incident with her father" for plot reasons.

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**_"There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in"_**

**_~Deepak Chopra_**

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Unbidden, ethereal wisps of smoke rose to the air like steam, converging into a single mass. From below, a ghastly green light illuminated the hazy body; an image, a memory imprinted within the recesses of the crystal, flickered into existence.

It was of her as a child, probably no older than seven years of age, standing alongside a solid-steel throne, clutching her favorite toy. On the throne was her grandmother, impassive and scowling, a powerful leader indeed. Lines graced her forehead with their presence. Arthritis seized her joints, osteoporosis ate away at her bones, and Alzheimer's toyed with her ageing brain cells. Even as her sixty-eighth birthday robbed her hair of its ebony color and vitality and stole the last traces of youth from her body, she remained strong, resolute in all matters.

Master Cyclonis tipped her head and bowed ruefully as the austere image dissipated into thin air with a blinding flash. A small smile was on her face; she thought of the day when the elderly woman finally kicked the bucket and left her life forever. But still, a tiny, minuscule voice at the back of her head did not deny the amount of respect she had for the woman.

Respect, respect, respect.

She was always taught to have respect.

After her parents' unfortunate disappearance, it was her grandmother that molded her into what she was today; a rather successful heir of the Cyclonian empire.

Grandmother made her strong, made her intelligent beyond her feebly struggling peers.

Grandmother made her cry.

"Foolish girl," her grandmother had snarled, clearing away the crystal shards with a swipe of her hand. "You're a disgrace to the_** entire**_ **empire**!"

It was not a week after her parents' disappearance, and all grandmother wanted to do was yell at her. She hated it when her granddaughter laughed, despised every shred of emotion under the Atmosian sun. Cyclonis tried not to cry, but a tear slipped.

**Big mistake.**

She was sentenced to be locked away in her room for 24 hours without food or drink. When a hesitant Talon soldier unlocked her room, he was besieged by a whirling purple and black ball of anger. He had managed to flee after being pinned down by the young girl, sporting several red, parallel marks where nails met skin.

Grand Mother Cyclonis held no affection for trivial concepts such as love and affection, and refused to show her granddaughter any shred of emotion besides disapproval and contempt. The elder Cyclonis was a difficult taskmaster and demanded absolute perfection from even her kin, slowly but surely modeling each and every one of them after her. Cyclonia's newest heir was no exception to the treatment.

From the very moment of her birth, Master Lark Cyclonis was ascribed to perform great things. A quick learner, she easily picked up the basics of crystallography before her eighth birthday. An innate sense of curiosity allowed her to devour books meant for adults three times her age and understand their contents. Wondrous traits inherited from her parents such as these were honed, steadily sharpened over the passing years. Guided by her grandmother, the girl grew past her years in knowledge, soon preened to perfection.

Great Cyclonian scholars arrived at the tower daily, imparting upon the impressionable girl a warped version of Cyclonia's past along with advanced crystal refining techniques. Grand Master Cyclonis herself encouraged her granddaughter's education, firmly believing in power derived from self-enlightenment; Lark believed that her grandmother just liked keeping her out of the way so she could cling onto her empire with what little life she possessed. And so, legends of ancestors' past were told over and over again until they were hammered into her skull, until every last shred of detail was firmly entrenched in her hippocampus. Lark Cyclonis perused story after story of territorial conquests during the many lonely nights she spent, hunched under a dying ring of crystal light, memorizing battle strategies employed in the exploits.

Dreams of personally dominating terras like her ancestors before her were often accompanied visions of great splendor and success. As an aspiring young girl, the idea called to her like flowers to a bee. And so, fueled by endless strings of these fantasies, the young girl pushed herself beyond her limits and performed well beyond expectations.

Her toys, which were limited in diversity by strict order of Grand Master Cyclonis, included battle ace (a variant of an old children's game called "battleship"), a collection of crystals, miniature Elite Talon Switchblades (she hoped to learn to ride a real one before her fourteenth birthday), and building blocks.

She loved shooting Sky Knights' skimmers out of the air, taking aim at the pretend-vehicles and making sound effects to go along with it.

Her toys allowed her imagination to grow beyond Cyclonia's immovable walls. They, along with the copious books that decorated her bookshelves, occupied her spare time and distracted her from the gnawing urge to develop bonds with somebody- anybody.

Cordiality and close relationships with the young girl were absolutely forbidden, although the rule remained unspoken. With the exception of the dozen-a-dime guards that accompanied her through the twisting hallways of the tower, The Dark Ace was the only person who interacted with her on a near-daily basis. The rest of the cowardly fools dared not to speak more than monosyllabic words to their future empress, fearing the current ruler's all-encompassing wrath.

Once, when she was ten years old, she slipped past her entourage and entered the room where a Junior Talon convocation was held in order to boost the numbers of future expendable soldiers. She found herself amid children around her age group talking excitedly with one another. Understandably, she was elated- after many years of social deprivation, she finally had a chance at the friendship she craved for so long.

However, they knew her for what she was, and stayed far away from her. Her eyes held an uncharacteristic hardness begot of unfulfilled requests for attention. Her voice was sharp and held as much warmth as the arctic terras. Deathly pale, stick-thin, and swathed in clothing much too dreary for their tastes, they fled from her presence in droves when she approached. Fruitless attempts at speaking equally with her peers frustrated the young Cyclonis to no end and she soon stormed from the area, tears threatening to spill onto reddening cheeks.

Thus, the young girl learned it was better to be feared than be friendly.

Master Cyclonis did not need anyone to comfort her, least of all The Dark Ace. Master Cyclonis did not need anyone to guide her- she always found her way. And Master Cyclonis certainly did not need anyone to be her friend- she found solace in crystals, which provided a stable, more predictable relationship than one born of another being.

The years passed like pages of a book in the autumn wind. Her thirteenth birthday rewarded her with her great grandfather's crystal staff, a treasured family heirloom capable of extracting and expelling the powers of the strongest crystals known in all of Atmos.

One day, Master Lark Cyclonis found herself perched atop her grandmother's throne, amethyst eyes brightly shining under a well-maintained mane of hair. The act itself was a symbol of great achievement and pride, unsurpassed by any other. Normally, the venerable woman would be here, brandishing her clawed nails like a snarling tiger and repeatedly uttering threats in her truculent, hoarse voice. Today, however, the halls were graced with a respectful silence. Although the young girl did not know it yet, her grandmother had quietly passed away in her sleep and an empire now groveled at her feet.

Alone in the chamber, Cyclonis smiled. It was a cold smile, cunning and calculated like her grandmother's and her ancestors before her, no longer holding one single iota of warmth- the result of years upon years of grooming. There was no such thing as childhood in the Cyclonian line; Cyclonia demanded rulers and went through them like wildfire.

On that throne, Cyclonia gifted its burden with fertile seeds of adolescence.

Not quite knowing why, Cyclonis threw her head back and laughed triumphantly.

And in that laughter, the last traces of her childish innocence died away, fading into nothing with every cackle.

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**Headcannon**: Cyclonis's parents were banished to an unknown location (possibly the Wastelands) from Cyclonia after attempting to spare their daughter's life from the harsh reality of the world. During the ensuing struggle, Cyclonis's mother left her a doll to remember her by. After accidentally discovering it while surveying the perimeter Grand Master Cyclonis discarded via incineration, severing the last emotional object that tied mother and child together.

I scripted the Junior Talon event as the reason why Cyclonis said "I don't have a lot of friends either" and developed a strong bond with Piper. Perhaps it was her lost childhood speaking again, wishing to express itself after Piper's open hospitality and trust weakened Cyclonis's emotional walls (and play with her newly found friend just as the Talon children had done many years ago).


End file.
